Traces of Faith
by Perfections-Cat
Summary: In a world defined by death, there comes a time in every young shinobi’s life where the question arises: What of the after? Sasukecentric.


In a world defined by death, it was only natural that at one point or another, a time would come in every young shinobi's life where the question would arise: What of the after?

His mother had always painted a beautiful scenario for him. Where the wind was quiet and warm, and the scents it carried were neither too strong nor wholly inexistent. It was a world that had rain, but not that kind that froze you to the bone, pulling out every shred of warmth you had and sealing your lips with a blue-toned kiss. That too was perfectly warm, perfect for playing in, dancing in, living in. But the best part was that everything, everyone you had ever lost would be there. You'd never be alone.

_"Because, Sasuke," she whispered lightly into his ear, a smile upon her lips, "no one truly wants to be alone."_

When he watched them lower her coffin into the ground, he was certain that she had gone there. Years too early, but she was there. And one day - far, far into the future - he would have her again.

When he went there, he'd be purified of the sins he would commit. Because God didn't want him to be alone. God. . .He wanted them to be together. They were family, family he loved more than anything else. Even over his own life. For them. . .for her. . .he would bring them all together again. In a place that knew no pain, no jealousy, no failure. Just life.

And maybe. . .just maybe. . . .Itachi would be cleansed, and he would have the brother he had always known.

_"The rain is important, Sasuke." Her voice was soothing. Flooded with love and knowledge. With a spirit that had seen so much and had yet to be broken by it. It was kindness in all its sweet beauty. "The rain washes everything away. . ."_

It did. He would come to find that out.

When his hand pierced flesh and soaked itself in sin (the first of many, he told himself for days after, until the pain wore off and the numbness set in, and he no longer had to fight against the idea). As the drops pulled the red from his skin, he could only watch with mute sadness at the ease of it all. How water diluted those transgressions of friendship without a second thought given to the how's and the why's. It slicked it all away until nothing more remained. Only the paleness of skin too quickly cooled and guilt waiting for a six-foot dive.

_"I'm not going there, Sasuke," he coughed, lips life-bright (defaced, he couldn't help but think, their thin beauty smeared with an unnatural crimson hue. . . .desecrated. . .he had violated blood) and holding tight to a dying smile. "I never was."_

Itachi held a completely different view. The Uchihas were only fit to burn. _He_ would burn. Because they were fire, and fire consumed everything and anything. It didn't matter what it was. The flames licked and swallowed themselves.

And how he had screamed then. Because that was not what she had told him, and she was everything. . . ._everything_ that was right. Gentle and warm and kind, and she had loved them both. Sasuke was certain she had even loved Itachi as he had driven that sword through her body. She was like that, he had cried. And so, what she said had to be truth.

_"Foolish," he choked. "You and I. . . we won't be accepted."_

When the rain fell, it couldn't carry away all the blood. There was simply too much. He began to wonder if Itachi's heart had ever stopped pumping because it just kept spilling out. Red. Redder. And it wasn't coming off of his hands.

Of course it wouldn't. . . _you keep trying to shovel it back in._

What was the point then? What was the point of forgiveness if not everyone could have it? But when he asked, there was no answer. Only pale blue lips and running rivers of pink over skin that was too white to be alive.

His hatred for Itachi hadn't ended there. Rather it remained firmly planted, blossoming year-round - beautiful black flowers, petals stained crimson at the edges. Really far too gorgeous to destroy (or so he kept telling himself, over and over, because this kept him linked to what he _had_ destroyed, and the memories of youth no longer remained free of hate, no longer pristine and innocent). They were family, and only together would it ever work.

All or nothing. It had to be. If God's love was so magnanimous, then he'd forgive them all.

"There. . . is…not...thing. . . " he whispered, the surge of blood in his throat breaking up his words until his voice was lost completely, sucked under by that current of life. And he tried. Again and again. But in the end, he could only offer up a tragic smile as the coughing fit subsided.

That was his answer. Nothing. It was easier that way, right? To hell with Fate, to some all-knowing being who held his soul's destiny in its palm. There was no need for forgiveness. No need for anything. After all, everything was gone. He was gone.

And still his fingers clung tight. Why? Letting go would just be so simple. He could give it all away - every memory, every ounce of breath that still urged his heart to beat.

Beat, dammit.

Cracked lips parted, a sob breaking its way through the thick scent of copper and sweat around them. But he wasn't crying. It was just a sound. Just a damn sound that was so completely broken he couldn't believe it had come from him. Not that he hadn't known the state of his own inner world - he'd just never exposed it so blatantly.

"Tell me there's something else. . . ." he whispered heavily. Needy. Because things were fading, and if it was all just black abyss and dissolution then why was he here, bleeding away his life in the arms of the only best friend he had ever had?

_"You had here. . ."_


End file.
